Be There
by ficdirectory
Summary: A so-called prank goes horribly wrong, and Blaine is injured. Santana fights for justice, in more ways than one. Allusions through 3x13, "Heart".


Freshman year had been bad for Blaine, but having an obviously doctored slushee thrown in his face in a dark parking garage by his former classmates was worse. Dalton had a zero tolerance policy, and Blaine had thought that the Warblers were beyond childish and dangerous pranks.

Blaine had experienced being slusheed before. Kurt warned him that it was a somewhat common practice at McKinley. As extremely unpleasant as it was, Blaine could handle it. It only took seconds for him to realize, though, that this one was different. The pain was immediate, and at the time, he hadn't realized that the rest of his former classmates had simply walked away from him, while the kids at McKinley - whom he had only known a few months - stuck by him.

Somehow, they got him to Kurt's car. Somehow, Blaine knew that it wasn't only himself and Kurt. And the hand that found his from the backseat and squeezed felt a lot like Santana's, though he knew she would never own it. Brittany offered her sunglasses, and no one joked about why she had sunglasses at night. Santana kept busy and got his parents on the phone, telling them happened, and insisting they get to the hospital, because Blaine needed them. Kurt took over the handholding then. It was a long, painful ride.

The hospital itself was a blur - literally and figuratively - it was clear from the emergency exam done that Blaine was going to need surgery. His parents didn't show up, but gave their consent by phone.

* * *

Blaine spent the first day after the operation in the dark. There was a patch over his eye, and he wore sunglasses for a good measure. There wasn't a lot of pain, but Blaine was exhausted and mostly slept. His parents checked in on him to be sure he was doing okay. But it didn't change the fact that his safe haven had become so blatantly unsafe. It didn't change the fact that his former classmates had stood idly by while Blaine was injured, and then walked away, leaving him there, without a word.

Not one of them called. None of these people whom he considered close friends - family, really. The New Directions were a different story though. He received constant calls from Kurt, who was livid about the whole situation. Rachel promised to visit sometime soon with Finn and Santana called and did her best to lift his spirits.

"What are they giving you for pain? You are _hilarious_ when you're all doped up. Hey, do you have any extra?" she asked conspiratorially.

"Santana, come on… I need it… I think I need it more than you do," he mumbled quietly.

"So, what's the prognosis?" she asked, not missing a beat. His brain hurt just trying to keep up with her.

"Six weeks. No bending. Nothing strenuous. No driving, which sucks. And I'm mandated to wear sunglasses during the day and a pirate eye patch thing at night. It's ridiculous."

"Oh come on, Laird Skullcrack. I guarantee you it's no more ridiculous than the awful bowties you wear every day…"

"Who?" Blaine asked, confused.

"It's your pirate name. Brittany looked it up," Santana supplied. She snickered softly to herself, humming thoughtfully under her breath. "Nothing strenuous and no bending…I guess that means no doing the wild for the Wonder Twins, huh? No wonder you're depressed…"

"Your wit is surprisingly unenjoyable when I'm on painkillers…" he told her, feeling tired and anchorless. "Unfortunately, for you, I don't kiss and tell."

"That visual is the last thing I want, Anderson… Just tell me…are you okay, or what? 'Cause if you're not, I'll find the cartoon villain and give him a taste of how we do it in Lima Heights Adjacent."

"I'm fine…I just…never thought the Warblers would do that to me… They always told me I was safe there."

"Yeah, well… People lie… My earliest memory is of my abuela telling me she would never trade me for anything…and then when I was old enough to talk back, she tried to sell me…so…while I'm officially over your self-pity thing, I can understand the betrayal."

"What?" Blaine asked, sure he'd heard her wrong. "Why… How…. I have so many questions… That's wrong on so many levels…"

"So is what that evil gremlin did to you. But unlike _you_, I'm not dwelling on it," she snapped.

"I can be sorry that happened to you and not dwell," Blaine insisted, feeling momentarily clear-headed. "Why… I mean… You don't have to answer that. If it's too personal, I understand."

"Most people just assume I'm kidding…" Santana said softly.

"You said it yourself. We've all been through difficult things," Blaine maintained, thinking back to how Santana helped him during his role in West Side Story, by encouraging him to use the role as an opportunity to express something, and by admitting that she had been through hard times, as well.

There was silence and then Santana spoke up, her tone clipped, masking the emotion that had just been there. "To answer your questions, she obviously did it for money…or tried to, anyway. And don't go all Cohen-Chang on me now. Suck it up. I'm over it. It was too long ago to matter."

Blaine hummed, listening. It was unexpectedly helpful listening to Santana's struggles, instead of focusing on his own. There was silence on the other end of the call and neither of them rushed to fill it.

"Hey, and don't worry…" Santana said, as if they'd been in the middle of this conversation all along. "I'm working on a plan to get revenge on the vulture child… So far, my favorite one involves a strongly worded tramp stamp. But I wanna save it for when you're clearer-headed so you can actually remember my genius."

"Thanks, Santana," Blaine replied, smiling for the first time in days.

* * *

It was talking to Kurt that gave Santana the idea. Listening to him talk about wanting revenge but not being able to embrace the idea of hurting someone else. Truth be told, Santana had other thoughts about how to get revenge on Sebastian - ideas that didn't involve physical pain. When there was a lull in the conversation, after she assured Kurt that they were going to beat Sebastian after all, she bit her lip. If her idea didn't work, she wanted to make sure Sebastian paid for what he did.

"So, would you care if I talked to your dad?" she asked, like she didn't care at all.

"About?" Kurt prompted, curious.

Santana shrugged, not giving anything away. If Kurt wanted to talk to his dad about Blaine, he would have. And she was pretty sure they would have heard about it. Blaine probably didn't have the presence of mind to involve Kurt's dad in this, given his current state, and Kurt would probably hate her for going behind their backs and disrespecting Blaine's privacy, but Santana didn't give a damn about privacy right now. She wanted to know there was still justice in a world where things were so often screwed up.

"Sure. He'll be at work, most likely." Kurt answered, confused.

"Congress. Or Hummel Tires & Lubeville?" she asked dryly.

Kurt cracked a smile. His first all day. "The tire shop."

"Thanks, Dancing Queen…" Santana said - a nod to his being crowned Homecoming royalty last year.

"You're welcome, my loyal subject," Kurt smiled. "You know, between your master plans and your veiled insults, I'm feeling a lot better."

"Yeah, I have that affect on people," she tossed over her shoulder as she walked out of the classroom.

* * *

Santana cleared her throat, walking into the tire shop. Normally, she'd fire off a harsh nickname to get the man's attention, but she'd heard stories of his temper. If he was anything like her abuela, Santana didn't want to get in the way of that.

"You go to school with Kurt, right?" he said, noticing her and getting straight to the point. "I recognize you from glee club. Nice job on the, uh, Winehouse song. I liked it," he complimented, putting a tool aside that Santana didn't recognize, and extending a hand. "Burt Hummel."

"Santana Lopez," she said, reacting in kind, because she knew politics - and a decent person - when she saw one. "And thanks." Because she wasn't a fan of BS either, Santana didn't waste time with small talk. "I was just wondering if there was anything that could be done about an incident of assault that didn't occur on school grounds…" she asked carefully, leaving Blaine's name out of it.

"Did somebody hurt you?" he asked, his eyes flashing. "Be straight with me. It won't do any good to let some coward of a kid get away with hurting you."

Thoughts flashed through Santana's mind. Finn, calling her a coward, after he outed her in the middle of the hall… His ironic use of the word straight in this conversation, when she clearly wasn't… But most of all, how much she could have used someone like Kurt's dad on her side when her life spiraled out of control. Her parents were okay, but were more apt to want to be her friend, instead of parenting her. While she would never admit it to them, it's something she really wanted.

"No, it's not me," she said, shaking her head, and looking him in the eye. She took a deep breath, not knowing how Blaine would react if he knew she was sharing this with his boyfriend's dad. "It's Blaine. Some asshole from his old school threw a slushee at him, but it had something else in it…"

"Wait…Kurt told me Blaine's eye thing was from wearing old contacts… You're telling me one of the Dalton kids intentionally did this?" Burt asked, staring at her.

Santana nodded. "I know it's not my business and Mr. Schuester said to stay out of it because Dalton's launching an investigation, but since we don't have proof… I'm afraid he'll get away with it. And Mr. Hummel, he can't get away with it. It was intentional and devious, and excuse my language but-"

"The kid sounds like an asshole," Burt said frankly, and Santana raised her eyebrows at his uncanny ability to read her mind. "Tell you what, Santana. You can be sure that I'll look into this. Now, I'm no lawyer, but I am a dad and that's got to count for something. I won't make any promises, but I _will _do everything I can to make sure there are consequences for this kid."

Nodding, Santana excused herself, turning briefly as he called her name again.

"Thanks for telling me. Thanks for looking out for Kurt. I know you started that bully-whippin' club, and I appreciate it. Take care of each other? All of you kids."

"Of course," she said, and meant it.

* * *

In the coming days, while Burt was busy doing whatever he could to hold Dalton accountable for Sebastian's crap, Santana had her own ideas about how to exact a non-violent revenge. She cornered Artie in the near-empty boys' bathroom to ask a favor.

"Wheels McFly. Can you get me one of those spy recorder things? The old-school ones that they don't sell anymore?" she asked.

"Obviously if they aren't sold anymore, I can't," he said, pointing out the truth, in his usual irritating way.

"Okay, don't get all intellectual on me. You know what I need. You probably have one at home in your collection of nerd gear. I need it fast. I'm going to talk to the Dalton losers who blinded Blaine."

"Oh," Artie said, looking surprised. "Well, why didn't you start with that? I'll have it by the end of the day. Meet me outside the glee club door before practice."

* * *

Santana got the tape-recorder from Artie, and made quick work of taping to the underside of her chest. It was going to kill to remove all the adhesive, but proof of Sebastian's involvement would be worth it.

She met him, decked out in a hat and jacket that would have made MJ proud, and gave Sebastian and the Dalton boys a piece of her mind. Only one spoke up and voiced any kind of regret when hearing the damage they had done. It made Santana want to punch them all, but instead, she and the Farkus-wannabe had an epic duel singing Smooth Criminal at each other. Sebastian was his creepy-ass self, singing in her ear, and completely unapologetic for his actions. Even hearing him admit that there had been rock salt in the slushee wasn't nearly as satisfying as she wanted it to be, mostly because he threw a non-tampered-with slushee on her, ruining her clothes, and possibly the audio evidence.

It was disappointing when Kurt and the rest of the Lame Directions seemed intent on not reacting, even when Santana presented them with proof of Sebastian's evil ways. Blaine was still out of school, trying to stay caught up with classes and recover enough to drive. Kurt's dad seemed to be having the same streak of shitty luck, because "the incident" didn't occur on school grounds, there was nothing school officials could do about it. He tried to talk to Blaine about pressing criminal charges, but so far, he wouldn't budge.

* * *

It was Valentine's Day when she paid Blaine a visit. Two weeks had passed, and his eye was healing slowly.

"You look ridiculous in those sunglasses," she ribbed, the minute she saw him, sitting in his dimly lit bedroom, attempting to do homework.

"These are rock star shades," he insisted, smiling in that dorky way of his that Kurt found endearing for reasons Santana couldn't fathom.

"Whatever. So why the hell aren't you pressing charges against Smythe? You know he deserves it. You could sue him and get money for damages. He caused you emotional distress _not to mention _physical and monetary hardship."

"Are you watching _Judge Judy _again?" he asked hiding a smirk. "Or is it the courtroom drama books?"

"Don't change the subject, and don't try any of that underhanded crap to insinuate that I don't have a kick-ass intelligence hidden under all this brilliant sarcasm," she quipped.

Immediately, Blaine sobered. "That wasn't my intention. I apologize."

"Oh, relax," she shot back, an easy smile on her face. "You think I can't handle your veiled insults, Anderson. My grandmother has a lethal wit. If I can survive her, I can definitely survive you. Now, come on. _Hablame_. Why aren't you making that asshole pay for what he did to you?"

Blaine smiled a little at the Spanish command to talk to her, but it quickly faded. "Contrary to popular belief… My family isn't made of money. I transferred to McKinley as much for financial reasons as I did to be there for Kurt. A lawyer costs money that we don't have, and I happen to know that the stone gargoyle, as you called him, has loads of money to pay for an amazing attorney."

"And?" Santana prompted, knowing there was more to it than money.

"And…" he admitted taking a deep breath. "My parents are pretty much of the opinion that I got what was coming to me. They don't say it out loud. At least not anymore, but when I came home, they came in here and told me how disappointed they were in me. Before they left, my dad turned, and said, 'You sought them out. What did you expect?'

"What the hell? Do they think _I _had it coming to _me_, then? We were the first to confront them! Or Kurt? Sebastian literally said that you got in the way, and that he was aiming for Kurt! I still have the proof, Blaine; we can go to the cops. Or…I don't know…_something_," she tried, hoping she didn't sound desperate.

Blaine sighed. "Santana. They're my parents. I'm still a minor. I have to live under their roof for two more years. You get to get out of here in June. They're upset enough that I'm gay. I just…I can't add to it…"

"Even though he almost _blinded _you?" she insisted. "Even though you said yourself that they told you they were safe people and they obviously lied their asses off, because not one of them protected you, or tried to help you afterwards?"

"Let me put it to you this way…and I mean no disrespect… But did your parents do anything when your grandmother…?" he trailed off.

"No," she said, his words like a punch to the gut. She blinked back the tears, hating them. "No, they didn't do anything."

"Why?" he pressed gently.

"Because she's my mother's mother. Because they lived with her at the time, and they didn't want to do anything to piss her off," she admitted.

Santana glanced up in time to see him nodding, his expression drawn and sad. "Exactly," he said.

"This sucks," she insisted, wiping her eyes angrily. "These things happen and nobody gives a shit…"

"That's not true. If I could go back in time and stop what was happening to you, I would've. In a heartbeat. _I_ care. _You_ care…and I know you told Kurt's dad, because he was over here trying to talk some sense into my parents until I had to ask him to stop, because it was just aggravating the situation between them and me. But _he _cares, and so does Kurt."

"But what good will that do, when next year, two of the three people you named will be gone, and Kurt's dad's going to keep splitting his time between the tire shop and Congress?" Santana paused, glancing down at her watch. "Oh, crap, I need to go."

"Where?"

"Sugar's hosting this idiotic Valentine's thing at Breadstix, which I would totally skip, but Britt wants to go. So, I have to get dressed."

"So, you're just leaving? Just like that? After you completely depress me with how empty my life will be next year?" Blaine asked, only half kidding.

"Deal with it, Anderson," she said, smiling at him. "And, hey, your doctor said no straining, so I'm pretty sure you should lay off the homework," she insisted on her way out of his room.

"Hey, Santana? What time is the Breadstix thing?" he asked.

"It's at seven, Vampire. Why? You want in?"

"Yeah, I'll be there. But don't tell Kurt," Blaine said, smiling to himself.

Santana waved behind her back and left Blaine alone. He closed his eyes, trying to rest and take some of Santana's advice. Straining wasn't doing his eye any good, especially if he was going to ditch the glasses and the patch tonight.

He had just about dozed off, when his phone buzzed next to him. Blaine picked it up, expecting a message from Kurt lamenting their lack of Valentine's plans. Instead, he saw:

_1 Text message_

_From: Santana Lopez_

_2:14 PM Feb 14 2012_

* * *

For reasons Blaine didn't know, he hesitated, waiting a full three minutes before he clicked 'view' and read the message. Santana was so unpredictable, he never knew when her defenses would go back up and he'd have to deal with the biting and angry girl, instead of the friend he could trust to always tell him the truth. But when he finally gave in and read the words, he breathed a small sigh of relief at the knowledge that he wouldn't be as alone as he'd once feared:

_Next year, if you need me, just say the word and I'll come back. That's a promise._

The End.


End file.
